


Session Number

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [51]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: M/M, References to Emotional Abuse, Retribution Spoilers, Therapy Session, discussions of established flystep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Dr. Finch wants to discuss Richard's relationships
Relationships: Herald/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: How Not to Fall [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1327892
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Session Number

Dr. Finch shifted, adjusting her legs and crossing them. Ran a hand over her notepad as though it could help smooth down those sharper bits that they kept snagging on. Richard could follow the line of thought on her mental map steadily enough to see where it was headed. Where the last stop for that session would be. If he let it end there. 

Ah, beans.

“We haven’t spent too much time discussing your partner,” she opened with, giving him a quick glance up from her notepad. And then added on quietly: “We don’t need to use names, if you’re not comfortable with that,” but she knew. Finch wasn’t the sort to spend her time watching gossip tv shows, but she went to the grocery store. Newsstands and food stalls to grab a cup of coffee occasionally. And sometimes the headlines in the gossip rags propped out front of the checkout line were too bright to miss. 

At least she had the decency to let him try and wiggle out from it. Richard felt his hands twist hard and could do nothing to stop them. 

“Nope. We haven’t,” mouth tight and not poisonous yet. Yet. His tongue was filing itself down against the edges of his teeth—sharpening itself. Just in case. Of. In case of what? He wasn’t sure.   
Dr. Finch paused, scribbled a few words, and then looked back at him. “We don’t need--,” she began to repeat again, silenced by his hand waving dismissively.

“We can talk about it,” which earned him a long silence from her. A gentler movement as she set her notebook aside. A sort of olive branch, were it not for the fact that Richard knew how keenly her memory worked if and when he didn’t slide in to remove his mistakes after a session. It was a display; she’d make her mental notes all the same. Still. It was appreciated that she was at least. Richard sighed. “What do you want to know?” and Dr. Finch smiled kindly, relaxing back into her chair. 

“We can start with just telling me about them,” she suggested. There was an open door in that sentence, waiting for Richard to step through it. “How the two of you met, what you like about them. You’ve been together for almost as long as you’ve been coming to see me,” which was a sentence that barged into Richard’s mind, not even bothering to wipe it’s feet. Tracking mud and leaving a stink with it. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know who he is,” 

Finch had the decency to look sheepish as she nodded. “I didn’t want to make assumptions,” a mild defense, said more for the saying than for anything else. “Although, for the record, me knowing who he is doesn’t tell me much about why you like him,” 

Fair.

“We met through Ricardo, a while ago,” timelines could be dangerous for someone as observant as Doctor Finch. “The first time I met him I thought he was obnoxious. All this…peppy boy scout energy,” the eye roll couldn’t be contained but Richard did his best to minimize it by looking over at the far wall. “He was just. He felt. Too bright, if that makes sense,”

Apparently it didn’t. Or Dr. Finch wanted an excuse to needle a bit more at that statement. “Can you explain what you mean by too bright feeling?” and. Alright, she made the mental map shift a bit to accommodate ‘bright’ as though he meant quick witted. With a question mark next to it. The request for explanation was a valid one. 

“I mean. Have you ever gone,” he trailed. “Like when you leave a movie theater in the middle of the day. You go from this dark room where your eyes have adjusted and then step out into the sun—you can’t see straight and have to flinch and squint because everything’s too bright,” which didn’t help very much, but Dr. Finch adjusted the map again, plotting out a different route. And then waiting to see what he would say next. “So. So he was this sunshiny, annoying little poster boy. All blonde hair and Prince Charming smile. Like he’d stepped out of some PR manager’s wet dream. I thought he was fake and naïve and I didn’t like him very much when we first met,”

She smiled encouragingly. “And clearly that changed,” a softer nudge, one that made him snort.

“It did. After a while,” trying to parse out how much was too much to tell and how to. “I wanting to start working on trusting people,” a good mile marker, one that could offer Dr. Finch a more solid timeline to work with. Figure out the speed of the conversation with some quick mental math and. And reaching down for the clipboard again, to start writing her questions in case she misplaced any of them along the journey. “And he wanted to hang out,” he shrugged, deliberately avoiding anything that might key her more into the fact that he wasn’t just some old friend of Ortega’s. She already had her suspicions about who he might have been in a past life—no need to give her more to work with there. “Which…was hard. Because he really was. Is that bright and shiny. I mean, he’s not perfect, but,” he bit the bullet, stinging his teeth. Spit it out onto the carpet to sit between them, smoking and volatile. “Alright,”

“Alright?” Dr. Finch echoed, curiosity and caution lacing the word. 

“I hated him when I first met him,” dredging up the past with an ancient net from depths he’d rather lie about and say didn’t exist. “It wasn’t just dislike. I hated him for how he made me feel about myself,” 

To her credit, Dr. Finch didn’t immediately jump on that admission, instead her mind trying to sort into place the plethora of sources the hatred could come from. Coupled with what they’d been discussing of his ‘family life’ and ‘childhood’ she. Well, it was understandable that she’d think that.

“it wasn’t because he’s a guy,” Richard shuffled that answer out the door. “It was…. he felt shiny and clean. Fresh out of the box and worth every penny. And I’m,” he made a gesture with his hands, as though he could shuffle himself out of the door alongside Dr. Finch’s assumed homophobia. “Not. I never have been. So, I hated him for a while, so much so that,” how to say it without. The words stuck in Richard’s throat. “I got into a fight and ended up trying to hurt him,” 

“A fight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” quick and sharp. Forcing out another sigh. Ah. “But it was ugly and petty of me—not a shock I know, I’m such a friendly and open guy otherwise,” trying to mend any cut he may have made with light sarcasm. Dr. Finch’s attention stayed hard. 

“And he still wanted to spend time with you afterwards?” 

“Surprised me too,” and at least that could be honest. “He was mad about it; it’s not like he just let me—I apologized about it, but I don’t deserve him forgiving me for it,” too quiet. Too much towards. He cleared his throat and continued before Dr. Finch could open her mouth. “I still feel that way,” an admission that drug its claws in deep through the thin barrier of his throat. “Not hating him for it, obviously but. Like. I’m not putting him on a pedestal, I know it sounds like I am. But he’s just a better person than I am and I’ve. I can’t even compare to him, you know? I wouldn’t even dream of treating myself the way he treats me,” 

There was no sign of acknowledgement from Dr. Finch. Not for a while, as she carefully wrote out her thoughts and pressed her lips thin. She knew about his issues with self-worth, so that wasn’t too surprising for her to hear about. And even though he’d been careful, some pips of recognition fired along her mental pathways. Reminding her of half caught whispers about trying to hurt himself. And worse. 

“When did you first start feeling differently towards him?” she asked carefully. 

Richard swallowed. “When we started hanging out together. Just us. And. I guess he was just,” the claws in his throat caught and began twisting. “He was happy to see me. And I couldn’t figure out any good reason he could have to actually want to be around me, when I kept being so rude and petty to him, but he kept. Showing up, kept expecting me to keep showing up. And we went to get coffee, nothing. Nothing big,” there was a pressure on his legs that his brain dimly recognized as his fingers gripping his thighs just above the knee. “It was just little things and it. I felt. It was nice to be around him. I felt better around him. Like I could be happy,” and that _was_ too much. “Which I know is fucked up,” the profanity catching her attention. “Sitting here talking about how I hated him and how disgusting I am for wanting to stay with him even when I know,” Getting it out in the open how selfish it was of him not to call the whole thing off. Not to break it up and let Daniel. Let him. 

“Richard.” Harsher than normal. Softening as she spoke. “There is nothing shameful or disgusting about wanting to feel happy,” 

“There is if you’re ruining other people’s lives with it,” 

A small pause. “What makes you think that you’re ruining his life?” quiet and measured. “Has he ever said anything to that effect?”

“No,” miserable and strained coming out of his chest. But it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t like she knew. Could only work with what he told her and he certainly wasn’t about to. To. “But if he were with someone healthy—someone who wasn’t so broken, then,”

“You are _not_ broken, Richard,” 

“Says the woman getting paid to fix me,” too bitter but he couldn’t stop it. Dr. Finch took in a slow breath, not responding for a moment. They’d been over that before; it remained a sticking point even though he could see in her thoughts that she cared. Something in him continued to rail against it and scream that it was just her job. As soon as he walked out the door and his time was up, her willingness to deal with him would be over. Which was a good thing, ha. Proved she was a professional. 

Which was when she hit him with a surprise hair pin turn. Not uncharted territory by far, but certainly not a destination that had been on her map. “From what you’ve described, and what you’re saying you feel with Herald, the way your family treated you has made it very difficult for you to know that you’re worthy of love,” 

Well. That wasn’t fair. Because obviously. But admitting that she was right came with the admission that of the second half of her statement. That. 

He’d left his face unmonitored. And she wasn’t stopping. “When it comes to these people in your life, Ortega and,” a slight pause “Herald. You become very agitated with yourself when you describe their roles in your life, as though the affection you feel for them is a source of negativity and shame,” 

The way his stomach wanted to drop into his feet was sickeningly slow. A long and hideous slip. Not a surprising one—because in what way didn’t the Farm fuck him up. It felt like acid on his tongue.

“And?” he felt Finch’s mind start to gather itself. A little bit of tension winding itself tighter and tighter. 

“And I believe that it’s fairly clear those feelings stem from fear,” she said gently, setting the clipboard down on the table. Speaking slowly and clearly. A presenter giving her final speech. “The first people in your life who were meant to show you love failed you. You describe your family as hating and resenting you, and that it continued well out of childhood. It set a precedent for and confirmed your developing emotions that you were unworthy of being cared about. That you didn’t have worth. And now that you’re an adult, you have no way of reconciling it when people do care about you. There’s medical evidence that shows if the neural pathways responsible for feeling safety and happiness aren’t reinforced at an early age, that they can literally degrade. Which means experiencing those feelings later on are not only much more difficult but are uncomfortable and even distressing. It can lead to a fear response,” a slight adjustment in her mind because, oh god, ah beans, his hands were clenched too tightly and he couldn’t sit still and. “None of those things are your fault. And it isn’t your fault now that you struggle with these feelings,”

A longer silence. No remark as he tried to relax his hands, only to find crescents of skin pulled up from his palms and the beginning beads of blood. He clasped them tightly together and ignored the sting. 

“Was all that meant to convince me that I’m not broken?”

“It was meant to tell you that there are reasons you feel so scared and threatened by people caring about you, and that none of them are because you are unworthy of being loved,” she said, quiet and careful. Richard snorted. Full of rancid and bitter. 

“Fine. So what?” there were hundreds of other questions beating at his teeth and he clenched down hard against them. What would she have to say when it wasn’t just a fight—that he’d hurt Daniel badly enough to send him to the hospital. To give him nightmares that went on to this day. That he’d lied to Ortega for years and still couldn’t find it in him to not want to. To not stop wanting to. 

“So,” Dr. Finch began, drawing on her reserves of patience with a quiet sigh. “It means that for a long while, you’re going to continue feeling like you don’t deserve the things that make you happy. That you don’t deserve having anyone care about you. The good news is those pathways can be rebuilt. Those feelings can be learned again,”

Sure they could. By someone who was actually human. By someone with a functioning brain and not a malfunctioning. Someone who had had a childhood and not a programming chip, because real childhoods meant external forces. Teachers. Bus drivers. People from outside who would have treated him like a normal. Little bits and pieces. ‘The pathways can degrade’. As if they’d ever existed in the first place. 

Apparently his silence went on for too long. “This has been an intense session, Richard. How are you feeling about it?” 

He pressed his lips tight. “… angry,” and an even harder and cruel sounding bark of a laugh. “Which just confirms your theory, doesn’t it? The only way I know how to react to things is by breaking down and sobbing or by getting ‘agitated’,”

Not a full break. “It does help confirm it, Richard, yes,” measured and even. Clearly not wanting to upset him any further, but not willing to. To. “I won’t lie to you. Working on this will be difficult. It might be painful and frightening,”

“And what makes it worth it? What if,” couldn’t keep looking at her, had to turn his head down to the carpet. “What if you’re wrong? What if you find out something about me and it turns out that my family was right? And that I don’t deserve to be happy,” part of him registered her movement. “What if it turns out there’s no fixing me because I really am that awful?”

“That isn’t going to happen,” confident and clear and making him, for a brief second, want to lash out at her. “I can’t make you feel like it is going to be worth the struggle. And it isn’t going to be a magical switch that flips, and one day you’ll wake up and be able to accept that people do care about you. But you’ve made it this far—I don’t think you’re going to give up now,”


End file.
